To Go On Living
by Colvine
Summary: Soul of a hero, she thought, then laughed bitterly. No, she was merely the survivor, as always. He had the Dragon blood, and he had the hero’s soul. A development that occured to me after I finished the main plotline. MAJOR SPOILERS!


**Disclaimer**- Don't own Oblivion. Kind of obvious, really.

**To Go On Living**

The first time she saw Martin, he had stopped her in her tracks. Her experience with priests in the past had been... unsavoury. They were, in her mind, figures of cowardice and greed. Martin, on the other hand, was brave, and had an air about him of concealed power. It was strangely captivating. She shook herself to dismiss the nonsense thoughts, and spoke urgently to the priest.

She hoped, entering the gate the plagued the city, that returning victorious would earn her some distinction, in the eyes of all Cyrodil. Emerging relatively unscathed, she had followed Captain Matius in his re-capture of Kvatch.

Finally able to leave the city with a clear conscience, she persuaded Martin to take her words as truth (although he did so reluctantly) and set off for Weynon Priory. The journey was a quiet one, for both parties were introspective and pensive. She expected no different, for a great and strange truth had been revealed, and needed to be pondered in silence.

On their arrival to the Priory, her shock and anger had been overshadowed for a moment by a feeling of relief, for the Emperor-to-be proved himself capable, dispatching a daedric cultist without her assistance. Even that, though, was not enough to eclipse the dread that came with the loss of the Amulet. She had seen Oblivion once, and had no desire to return to the hot and furious planes. She felt herself drawn into a long and painful quest for the future of the kingdom, not entirely willingly.

The journey to Cloud Ruler Temple was mainly undisturbed and serene. She found herself growing accustomed to Martin's presence, and Jauffre's as well, to a lesser extent. In the times of turmoil and grief to follow, she looked back on these scant few days with fondness. A memory surfaces frequently, of a warm fire keeping the night at bay, and quiet conversation staving off boredom, and pulling lonely souls closer in the darkness.

She lingered for many days in Cloud Ruler, learning history and combat from the old Blade-brothers and –sisters. She took great pride in the armour of the Blades, and wore it frequently. Finally, she recalled herself to her responsibility, and left the temple, with reluctance.

Crouching in the sewers with Baurus in pursuit of the old Emperor's murderers –the Mythic Dawn- she found her mind wandering often to firelight reflected in dark eyes. Her return to the temple, nestled in the great mountains above Bruma, was much more enthusiastic than her departure. She suspects that Baurus and possibly even Jauffre notice this, for more than once she caught them sharing a knowing glance as she spoke with Martin.

She left again, with just as much reluctance, in pursuit of the Amulet of Kings. It was waiting in a Mythic Dawn stronghold, far into the countryside. The journey, like many of her previous ones, was a lonely one. This time, though, the loneliness hurt her more than it used to, and she was glad of her arrival at the cult's network of caves in the rock. Indisposed though she was to forfeiting her belongings, she felt that a subtle approach would perhaps be the more effective, and resolved simply to keep an eye on the weasel in possession of her belongings.

She reached a grand chamber carved from the rock. Were it not for the importance of her mission, she would have wished to linger and take in the magnificence of the imposing grotto. However, she continued on, and wondered how to take the amulet from Mankar Camoran without dying in the process. No opportunity presented itself, and so she decided to instead take the book left behind and follow him into his paradise. Normally, she would have simply killed the sacrifice and waited for a more opportune moment to seize it and run. This time, though, she felt a disapproving look in her mind, and so spared him and took the difficult way out. Only later, during the long, solitary return to Cloud Ruler, did she realize that the face that encouraged her to follow the nobler path was a familiar one.

She brought the book to him, and was for a moment concerned at the look in his eyes. It was a strange combination of desire and fear. She thinks that both are rooted in his former experiences with Daedric magic. Watching the painful control he kept himself under around the Mysterium Xarxes caused her admiration and a pang of pity. She wondered what could have happened to him, to cause such a deep mistrust.

She watches with concern as he becomes more and more entrapped by the book, despite his best efforts to the contrary. Other than the two nights it took her to flush out the spies in Bruma, she spent every night and morning coaxing him away from it, reminding him to eat and sleep. The rest of her days were spent preparing for combat with the Daedra that were quickly becoming a daily hazard, and learning all she could of the gates and their closing. It was a pitiful collection, and she had concluded that she could probably do better herself. And so, with the help of the books and a distracted Martin, she painstakingly recorded her experiences with the gates.

Finally, he found something for her to do, and she was eager to do it, even if it forced her to leave, for a task would allow her to leave her sense of helplessness behind her. And so she set off, in search of the blood of a Daedric Lord. She traveled across the kingdom, leaving offerings, completing quests and receiving blessings and artifacts. She could have stopped at the first – the Star of Azura – but instead continued on, appeasing the Daedric Lords and gathering artifacts. She doesn't like to think about it, but communicating with the daedra give her a sense of kinship with Martin, which she values far more than she ought.

She returned and had resolved to speak to Martin, but has barely peeled off her helmet and presented the Wabbajack (fascinating, but utterly useless to her), before Jauffre told her that a gate had opened near Bruma, and Burd needed her help to close it.

She sighed, returned her helmet to her head, and mounted her horse.

Burd proved to be a valuable companion in battle, and she was glad of his presence. They closed the gate, and he had learned to close them on his own, so that she would no longer be necessary.

She returned to Jauffre to report her success, bone weary. As the great doors swung open, she felt an unexpected sense of belonging, of homecoming, the likes of which she hadn't felt since she was a child. Cloud Ruler Temple was as much of a home to her as anywhere, the Blades the closest she could see herself coming to a true family. The thought of family filled her with longing, so profound that it overwhelmed even the weariness, and a vision flooded her mind of a time when she might exchange her sword and shield for a home, a husband, and children.

The next day she returned to Martin, free for a day of the heavy burden of her armour and all that it represented. She could not quite bring herself to abandon her sword, and so it dangled from her hip, looking out of place alongside her simple dress. He looked up at her from a table covered with books and the remains of a meal, and smiled weakly, commenting on her return. He had another part of the ritual translated, but it needed the blood of an immortal. A hopeless and apologetic look crossed his face, telling her that he thinks he's found an impossible task, and he suggested that she ask Jauffre. The hopeless look bothered her. She put her hand on his shoulder and looked him in the eye, communicating her determination to do as he's asked. He looked at her hand, his own moved slightly, and then he sighed, thanked her, and returned to the god-forsaken book. Slight disappointment surfaced in her mind along with the flood of worry and helplessness that his state caused her.

Jauffre told her of the armour Tiber Septim, deep in the catacombs of Sancre Tor. She took this news in with a slight sense of triumph, and re-donned her armour to begin the long journey out to the Blade's shrine. Again, the sense of loneliness assailed her and she wished that perhaps one of the items in the ritual would be found nearby. What she truly longed for, though, was someone to travel with, to eat with, hunt with, talk with and keep the night at bay with. Her thoughts returned once more to Martin before she dismissed them and the longing they summoned.

When at last she reached the temple, an observer might have noticed her renewed aggressiveness and viciousness with the undead creatures in her way. She was relieving her frustration doing the only thing that she believed she could do well – destruction. Overcome with bloodlust, she almost didn't understand that there was a brother offering her help. Watching the freed ghosts of the fallen Blade-brothers, she wished tiredly that the rest of her life might be so simple as felling hordes of undead creatures.

Returning, she proudly presented to Martin the armour of Tiber Septim, then watched with pleasure as he realized that she has accomplished another impossible task for him. She smiled at him simply, and he returned it uncertainly. He reassured her that he could find no more unattainable goals for her as yet.

She relaxed in the Temple, waiting. Her time was divided between her literary endeavor and her training, but she trained with the other Blades not on her own. Baurus especially sought her out frequently for a partner in training and for simple conversation.

She spent every morning and evening with Martin, and these were the only times he would put away the book of rituals. He told her of his experiences with Daedric magic, about his priesthood and his childhood. She shared with him in return her childhood and her family, things that no one else knew anything about. Then, Martin found another item for her to seek – a Great Welkynd Stone. As she traversed abandoned ruins all across Cyrodil, she found that long journeys are more easily undertaken if one has a home to return to.

Finally, in the subterranean caverns of Misercand she found it. She also discovered a great, undead king, unwilling to let go of the Great Welkynd Stone. Entering into battle, she had found that facing opponents mysterious and challenging was no longer an exciting adventure for her. It was simply something that has to be done, and she was the person able to do it. It wasn't glorious for her anymore. She picked up the ancient staff the old king dropped as he fell, hid the stone securely on her person and set off to return home.

Before Martin could translate the next passage, Jauffre approached her with another task. We would need to gain allies and support for Bruma, because the gates were opening with alarming frequency in the area. She traveled first to the Imperial City, but the Chancellor was too wrapped up in his own affairs, and she realized she would have to visit each city individually. In each city, gates had to be closed in the area before the Counts and Countesses would send help. So, in city after city she closed gate after gate until the planes of Oblivion blended into a mess of fire and death in her mind. For this small mercy she was thankful, at least. The one thing that remained clear throughout the fight, and pushed her onwards when she wished only to give up, were Martin's words – _the soul of a hero_.

The young, foolish son of Count Indarys was an amusing distraction at least, but she was grateful to Bremman for controlling the little idiot while she closed the gate. Finally, all that remained was Kvatch, and Savilian Matius felt himself indebted to her and so sent the reinforcements without requesting further help.

Once again, she returned triumphant. This time though, Martin wasn't sitting surrounded by books. Instead, he bore a grim, determined frown that sent a chill of foreboding down her spine. He told her that the fourth component was the opposite of the Great Welkynd Stone, just as the blood of the Daedric Lords and Divines were opposite – a sigil stone from a Great Gate. He also had a plan, admittedly one not without an element of risk, to Bruma in this case. Her fears begun to take root then, that one or both of them would not survive this ordeal.

She and Martin eventually convinced Countess Carvain to allow their plan to continue. Before the rest of the reinforcements gathered, she turned to Martin and grabbed him in a fierce hug. She asked him to be careful, for her sake if not for his own.

They trekked down to an open field near Bruma, followed by the support she had gathered and a few Blades. Martin stood before the rag-tag bunch in his grand armour, and he spoke of home, of duty and of glory. As she watched him, she felt a fierce rush of pride and loyalty. Then the first gate opened and everything swirled together in a glorious rush of blood lust and berserker rage as she rushed to meet the first wave of Daedra. She remembered – barely – that her purpose here was to protect Martin, and so stayed near his side with Jauffre and Baurus as a second and third gate opened and the Daedra poured forth. Finally, the Great Gate opened. She looked to Martin to remind him of her plea to take care, and then rushed forward into the unfamiliar and hostile planes.

She saw before her the instrument of Bruma's destruction, and she ran, until everything became a blur. She cut the Daedra down as she ran, but she never stopped. She never needed to; by now, Oblivion was a familiar place to her. Through towers, over broken bridges, she ran until she reached the Sigillum in a mad rush. Without even sparing the approaching Daedroth a glance, she darted to the top and claimed what she hoped was the last sigil stone she would ever need to retrieve.

The blinding light of the dying Gate faded, and the other three vanished with it. She emerged, looking desperately for living, familiar faces. She noticed Baurus, Burd and Martin all relatively whole, and nearly collapsed in relief. Then she saw Jauffre surrounded by Daedra, dead, and she dropped to her knees. She doesn't know how long she stayed there, but she couldn't rouse herself until she felt the pressure of a hand on her shoulder, and another that offered assistance. She noticed a bright red stone on the ground and recognized it at once as the sigil stone. She laughed hollowly as she picked it up. Then she looked over, and told Martin that it was time to finish with Oblivion at last.

They returned to the Temple in silence, as she reflected on how much better it was to travel with somebody than alone. They arrived, and as they parted ways for the night, she looked over at Martin, and finally identified the longing she felt in her gut whenever she was near him, whenever she looked at him. She loved him. There was no fanfare to mark her revelation, no sudden thunderclap to acknowledge the moment. She felt that it probably would have only cheapened the moment.

Then she thought about it seriously, for a moment. He was to be the Emperor, he needed someone better that her. What did she really have to offer? A Breton, whose family had died years ago, a fighter, with no land or background? Then her natural resilience re-asserted itself. No, she was Blade, sworn to protect him and his line, she was the hero of Kvatch, and she was the sealer of the Great Gate, the protector of Bruma. Countless enemies could not drop her; some slight self-doubt most surely would not either.

The next morning Martin stood in his ceremonial robes, preparing the ritual to allow her to enter Mankar Camoran's Paradise and reclaim the Amulet of Kings at last. She would not fail. She could not fail. So she prepared herself for battle, while Martin readied the ritual. Then he was finished, and looked to her.

She nodded, and he began. It didn't look difficult, but she was attuned with magic, and she felt a massive current in the room pass through Martin, and she saw him strain to control it all. She felt a strong impulse to help him, but knew that interference could kill them both, so she held herself back. He finished, and gestured her through urgently, informing her that the portal would close after she entered, and her only way out would be through the death of Mankar Camoran. She signaled understanding, then gathered her resolve, and stepped closer to him. She grabbed at one of his hands, and held it tight in hers, telling him that just in case this latest impossible task proved to be the one that finally lived up to its reputation, she wanted him to know that he had not only her loyalty but her love. Then she released his hand and stepped through the portal.

She expected more from Paradise than this. Deceptively perfect, and Daedra infested. Camoran's hideout was hardly any better, and he himself offered next to no challenge as he too fell before her sword. She gathered his robes and staff – magical artifacts fascinated her – as Paradise crumbled. She picked up the Amulet, and thought she felt it emit a low hum, questioningly. She was unable to answer it, but she suspected that it would soon be in the possession of someone whose very blood could answer the Amulet's call. With the end of her journey in sight at last, she smiled grimly as Paradise ceased to exist abruptly, hurling her none too gently back into her own realm.

She landed on the floor near Martin's feet, and regains her own feet quickly. She handed him the Amulet, and felt the hum increase to a blazing crescendo as he slipped it onto his neck. She smiled again, not at all grimly this time, and then she looked at him in askance. His own gaze became uncertain for a moment, then he pulled her closer to him and their lips touched, lightly. It was not in and of itself an extraordinary thing. But combined with the flood of power Martin had flowing through his veins and the satisfied buzz of the Amulet, it was exquisite and left them both dazed. Then she felt relief and joy overwhelm her, and she returned the kiss properly.

They needed to travel to the Imperial City and light the Dragonfires, the sooner the better. They departed that same day, with the Blades as an honour guard and she as their leader. During this voyage, she spent each night as close as possible to Martin, and Baurus had definitely noticed. He had taken to elbowing her and grinning suggestively each morning, the incorrigible man. She simply smiled fondly at Martin, and then at Baurus. The group was attacked near daily by Daedra or agents of the Mythic Dawn, but after facing down both enemies on multiple occasions, they held little threat and none were hurt seriously during their attacks. She allowed herself to believe that the entire crisis might resolve itself with minimal casualties.

They arrived in the Imperial City and located Chancellor Ocato, but as they spoke with him, Oblivion Gates began opening throughout the city. Martin made a decision, and said that he must reach the Temple District. As they reached it, Mehrunes Dagon himself appeared in corporeal form. Martin and the accompanying soldiers seemed paralyzed, so she pulled him bodily through the gate, and they followed in a daze. She was shaken. Things three, four times her size, she could dispatch easily enough. Daedric Princes, invincible ones moreover, they were more difficult.

She turned hopefully to Martin, but her heart fell nearly through her boots when she saw his expression. It was the noble, self sacrificing expression that she so loved and feared. His noble, kind soul endeared him to her greatly, but she was petrified that it would take him away from her one day. He told her, grimly, that Dagon is immortal, and the Dragonfires will no longer aid them. He needed to reach the temple itself. His tone brooked no objection, and she thought that she could see the Emperor that he would be coming out in that voice. She nodded, and gestured to the guards that they can leave; they will be needed elsewhere soon, and this would be a mad dash, not a fight. Sheathing her sword, she took his hand and looked at him, asking if he's sure. He nods, and they run through the chaos. She had to block a few wayward spells and take a mace blow aimed at him, and they skirted the blows of Mehrunes Dagon himself, but they made it at last into the temple.

He tells her his plan, a desperate one. He will try to use the blood of Akatosh in the Amulet, and his own to defeat the Daedric Prince. She knew that his plan was desperate and dangerous, and it was likely he wouldn't return to her alive. She saw her vision of the future consumed by the flames of Oblivion. She had cast about desperately for another answer. Surely, she asked him, there was another way? But in her heart, she knew there was nothing else, so she kissed him, desperately, and let him go.

She watched him stand, small and mortal, before Dagon. She watched as he was consumed by the avatar of Akatosh, and she watched him vanquish the one enemy that she could not. With the prince defeated, she watched him, hoping, wishing, praying that he might return. But he didn't, of course. The Dragon blood claimed him, and he has gone, perhaps to death, perhaps to be with his ancestors and the Nine Divines. Where he has gone, she doesn't know, only that it isn't here. _Soul of a hero_, she thought, then laughed bitterly. No, she was merely the survivor, as always. He had the Dragon blood, and he had the hero's soul. She loved him for them, and she lost him to them.

She wished, for a time, to simply end her own life and join him. But he would, she knew, be disappointed by that. So she lived. She became the Champion of Cyrodil and of the Arena, and many other things besides. Then, as she had dreamed, she lay down her sword and shield for a family and a home. Perhaps her husband's face wasn't the one she went to in her dreams, but her life was for him and her family. She lived long enough to see her children have children. Once a year, she would visit the dragon in the Imperial City, but the rest of the year, she set him from her mind and lived for her family and her home and her friends.

One day, long after the children's children grew into adults themselves, she didn't wake up. Her husband was a simple man who was in his own way truly wise, and he saw the relieved smile on her face as her brushed the hair from her weathered face. He fancied that he could even see her soul, youthful, glorious and free, rushing up to join whoever it was that claimed that corner of her heart that she had kept from everyone else. He gave her empty body his own, secret smile, and went on living.

* * *

Wow. I sat down to write a short little thing about the ending of Oblivion, and out came this monster of a one-shot. Hope you like it.

Colvine


End file.
